


Thunderstorms

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, F/M, Funeral, Grief/Mourning, HighSpecs, HighSpecs Week, Post-Game, Rainy Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12181755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was fitting that today, of all days, it was raining something fierce.





	Thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

> A really short story using the 'Rainy Days' prompt for HighSpecs week :) I wrote this up really fast and went in a different direction with my writing style than I normally do, so let's see how this goes!

**Thunderstorms**

 

It was fitting that today, of all days, it was raining something fierce. A storm of epic proportions. Almost like a fucking cliche that calmed and depressed Aranea at the same time. He would’ve laughed at the irony of it all, were he here to experience it.

Aranea held tight to the umbrella, waiting for her ride to pick her up. It was chilly outside, the rain alternating between a soft pitter-patter one minute and a torrential downpour the next. The black dress she wore wasn’t helping her to stay warm in any way, shape, or form. Her heels pinched the toes of her feet and didn’t distract from the pain in her heart like she thought they would. 

They always said that thunderstorms were their thing. She was the thunder—loud, menacing, powerful—and he was the lightning—quick, bright and brilliant, but deadly.  

Together? 

Well, they were a force to be reckoned with. 

In the beginning, they came together like a cataclysmic force, their love all-consuming. It was beautiful and frightening and a whirlwind of emotions. At first, they tried to fight it; oh Astrals, how they fought the emotions that crept upon them slowly, a devastating storm that neither one could outrun. Then, one day, he blindsided her with his confession. It spilled out, pouring from his mouth and unable to stop once he began, drowning her with his monologuing of how overwhelmed he was by his feelings for her.

When they first kissed just a few days later, after she told him she needed time to mull everything over, it was at a safe haven after fighting off a batch of daemons. They thought they were going to lose, thunderstorms inhibiting her sight and making it hard for him to hear and discern where the danger was. Somehow, they came out victorious and, only after making it to safety atop the glowing ruins, the adrenaline compelled them to come together passionately, lips finding each other in the middle of the storm.

She remembered laughing when he made some stupid joke about the storm, that moment being the first time they equated themselves to it. She called him ridiculous, but he had a point. 

Fuck, that felt like forever ago. 

A far cry from where she was now, trapped in the eye of the storm while everything careened around her and there was no escape. No place to run. No protection. Nothing but chaos.

The sleek vehicle pulled up and Aranea got in, shaking the excess water from the umbrella before collapsing it and laying it on the floor of the car. There was a man in the car already, mouth formed into a firm line, and Aranea hardly acknowledged him, crossing her legs at the ankles and following the raindrops as they traced their way down the window, one after the other. Sometimes, the drops would merge into each other, creating new trails for the higher drops to follow. 

The two were on their way, the driver already knowing where to go. “Commodore,” the man greeted after the silence dragged on longer than it should’ve. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Aranea wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Because it was too hard for her? Because she made a point to avoid any and all contact with everyone after the return of the sun? Because the mere mention of  _ him  _ was enough to reduce her to tears?

Any answer would’ve been the correct one, so it was just a matter of choosing which one to respond with. The man heaved a sigh and tugged at the sleeves of his suit jacket, adjusted his tie, and smoothed a wrinkle in his pants. It wasn’t like him to fidget so much, but Aranea knew he was distraught. He, too, knew the men. They were all like sons to him. 

Watching the man out of the corner of her eye made her feel like she needed to be doing something. Toying with an object. Distract herself from this new life. She fiddled with a small band on her left ring finger. A band given to her after months, no, _years_ , of joking about the seriousness of their relationship. It was no longer a joke.  _ His wife _ , he’d call her, a smile curling the corners of his lips. She never corrected him and, fuck, if he only knew what that smile did to her. How it reduced her to a puddle of mush. How it made her stomach jump, her heart race, her thoughts muddled. The smile that stretched the small scar on his lower lip. 

She loved that scar. 

She loved all his scars.

She loved him and everything he was and everything he stood for.

He must’ve felt the same way because he came back from daemon hunting one hot, summer night—by the hour, not by the sun and moon—and held the very band in his palm. He found it after pillaging an abandoned house, looking for anything that could be of use to him and the citizens of Lestaullum. She’d scoffed at first when he showed her, shoving his shoulder and telling him to stop joking around. If he was going to do it, she said, he’d have to do it right. 

Aranea remembered him promising that he’d do just that, get down on one knee, the day that the sun returned. Not now, though. Not until peace was restored and everything was right in the world. Not until their King was back and ready to rule the world--before they knew what fate had in store for the King, however Until then, he asked her to wear it as a sign of his love for her. Even blind, he found her hand and held it in his, placing the ring on her finger. By the gods, it was a perfect fit and Aranea, even sarcastically, couldn’t even deny him this simple request. 

As they kissed, the skies opened up and rain poured down, drenching them in the middle of Lestallum. It rained for three days straight and, for those three days, they stayed in their shared apartment, making love and only getting out of bed to eat, shower, or watch the storm rumble on. Just another moment to add to their ever-growing list of reasons why storms were  _ their thing _ . 

Now? 

Now there was nothing.

The car slowed to a stop and Aranea dropped her hands in her lap. The crowd dressed in black gathered around the steps of the Citadel, waiting to enter. The building was still heavily damaged from the hits it took the day the Niflheim army invaded, but there was nowhere else anyone could think to have this service than here. Some mourners had umbrellas, others just stood in the rain and let the water wash away their misery. Or, at least that’s what Aranea pretended. 

The man to her left opened his door and her door was opened by the driver who’d rushed around to assist her. Aranea ignored him—not intentionally—and popped open her umbrella. Her heels clicked unceremoniously on the pavement and she kept her head high. When the man held his arm out for her to take, she knew he was trying to show his support. Being here hurt him, but he had to know it absolutely  _ destroyed _ her. Numb and cold, she moved the umbrella to her other hand and looped her arm in his, gripping tight as if one word, one step, would cause her composure to shatter. 

Ahead, familiar faces stood a fair distance away from the crowd. A brunette, hardened by war and adversities, appeared shell-shocked while an older teen tried to comfort her. A busty blonde with curly hair tucked behind her ears wiped tears away and forced a smile as Aranea arrived with her colleague. 

They all tried to make small talk. Tried to catch up on life over the last couple of weeks. Tried to pretend that they weren’t here. It was useless trying to pretend. How could they when the very four who brought them all together were gone? How could they when it was those four men who sacrificed everything to bring the sun back to Eos? 

Inside, Aranea couldn’t focus. Doing so was a chore and the howling wind preoccupied what little attentiveness she had left. The service was dull and dreary, much like it was outside. There were four coffins lined up at the front of the sweeping room and each one had a framed smiling picture of the men who gave everything. The official leading the service droned on and on about how wonderful these four were. How regal the future king was. The infectious laughter of the blonde gunman. The steadfast strength and charm of the Shield. 

Then, he waxed poetic about the advisor.  The one who overcame the impossible. He made the most of his disability and never once gave up in the face of hardship. Aranea rolled her eyes and snorted, earning ire glares from those around her. Yes, it was all true, but it came off so scripted. The man in that coffin was more than that. He was more than a soliloquy. More than what some random guy said about him. 

He was a brother. A friend. A thinker and strategizer. A damn good cook. On the days he wanted to give up and let his equanimity crumble, she pushed him to try harder. When she refused to let her walls down, he had just the right words and a sharp tongue to get her to relax and trust more. In doing so, he became her best friend. Her confidant. Her everything. They started out as sparring partners and it turned into more as they continued to hang out. Walks back to their respective dwellings became longer, conversations flowed easier, and things seemed brighter when she stood in his presence. 

That light was extinguished the day he died. 

It was a day she wished she could forget. Wished never happened. Wished she hadn’t seen with her own eyes.

She’d volunteered to follow after them with backup. This was their fight and maybe they wouldn’t need the help. Maybe they survived. Maybe. Just maybe. Maybe his promise to her was still intact and they could go on to live happily ever after. Still, she led the team to assist them. As they descended on Ground Zero, Aranea stumbled. She choked. Gagged. Someone held her up. The screaming sounded like it came from someone else. 

What she was seeing couldn’t be true. This wasn’t happening. But, it was. Somehow, she tore herself away from the person holding her and ran to his side. His unseeing eye remained open and blood trickled from his nose and mouth. He was limp in her arms. She tried everything; threw every fucking potion, elixir, and spare Phoenix Down, but he was gone. There was nothing she could do except sob hysterically into his neatly pressed Kingsglaive uniform, ruined by daemon gore and his own blood. 

The service was still ongoing, but Aranea excused herself and hurried outside, through the shambles of hallways, far far away from here. Anywhere but here.

In that moment, she hated him. She hated that he was so fucking loyal and a good man and he laid in bed with her the night before he left and kissed the ring he’d placed on her finger and . . . fuck, he was gone. He wasn’t coming back. There would be no one-kneed proposal. There would be no planning a stupid wedding or growing old together. There would be no mornings in bed giggling over stupid bullshit. No chance at starting a family or watching the sun rise and set every day. There would be no more thunderstorms for them. No more rainy days cuddling on the couch. No more. Nothing.

At the same time, would it have been better had he survived? Gone on to live a life with her, but without his King? She knew him. She knew he’d be a bitter shell of who he used to be had that happened. If he had survived, he’d put on a face and reassure her that he was ok, but it would be the biggest fucking lie. 

Would that scenario have been any better? To have him here physically, but know that his heart and soul—his purpose in life—died anyway?

Damn it all. 

Outside, in a courtyard littered with debris and destruction, Aranea slipped on the slick stone, wet from the rain, and tumbled to the ground. The fall tore her stocking and her knee was now skinned and bleeding, but she didn’t feel it. She wanted to, just to see if she was still alive and breathing, but losing him turned her numb. Heartbroken. A grieving woman.

She screamed at the sky, cursing the gods. Cursing Ramuh for this fucking rainstorm that chose today of all days to release its fury on them. Cursing the Six for taking the man who loved her and whom she loved in return. Unconditional love. True love. The type of love that comes once in a lifetime. 

She just had to fall in love with Ignis fucking Scientia. 

She wasn’t sure how long she was outside. The rain never let up and she was a bawling mess on the cobblestone, praying and pleading and cursing. Gasping for air between her howling. The thunder rumbled and it hurt so bad. 

How could she go on? 

Where would she find the good in anything anymore? 

She was the lone wolf. The strong, independent dragoon. Yet, somewhere along the way, she became part of a pair. A set. And now, the thought of going back to being alone was the worst thing imaginable to her. They brought the sun back, but her world was darker than ever before. Six, she pleaded, why did they take him? Why, why, why. So many questions and her heart broke with every single one.

The glint on her finger caught her eye and she stared blankly at the ring he’d given her. Her fingers curled into a fist and she laid her other hand over the band, the metal cool against her palm. It was all she had left of him. From now on, the only thing she’d have to remember him by would be the ring she’d forever wear . . . 

That, and the steady rainfall, the crashing lightning, and the boisterous sound that came with the thunderstorms.


End file.
